


but i miss you, what did i do?

by redheadlady



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alcohol, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fighting and making up, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, curse words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:20:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23173075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redheadlady/pseuds/redheadlady
Summary: fucked it off, laughed it out, and i lost you.It’s been almost two weeks— twelve days as Atsumu has been counting— since Shouyou has left their apartment.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu
Comments: 15
Kudos: 152





	but i miss you, what did i do?

Blasting music doesn’t bother him anymore. His ears have learned how to treat it as mere white noises, along with the sound of cheering crowds and occasional rounds of applause. Either that or his thoughts have somehow become louder than before, louder than the beat from the speaker. He scarcely recognizes what song is playing, he doesn’t even like EDM in the first place, and yet there he is, sitting at the bar of a prominent nightclub in Shinjuku’s red-light district, only accompanied by his thoughts. His thoughts, louder than before, getting louder day after day ever since his partner has left their apartment without saying a word; day after day ever since Shouyou has left him without notice.   
  
Day twelve, no news. Unread messages in his inbox but nothing under the name of Hinata Shouyou. Missed calls in his call log but nothing came from the contact named Hinata Shouyou. Atsumu clicks on the keypad, moving his thumb across the screen, pressing on a series of numbers his finger seems to recall so well. He listens to the note of each key tone that he presses. It sounds so personal, so familiar like a childhood jingle he has learned off by heart. He loves it, he loves the way it sounds and that’s one of the reasons why he never puts his phone on silent, and why he always inputs the number manually instead of searching through the contact list. 

He, however, never presses the round, green button at the bottom of the screen. He never manages to. Instead, his thumb moves to the side and presses the lock. He hears the click, the screen of his phone darkens and he sees his reflection. Red eyes and pale lips. He immediately slams the device onto the tabletop, screen facing down.

A long sigh escapes his lungs. He takes the highball glass and finishes whatever inside in one gulp, almost choking from the rush, throat burning as the alcohol passes through. He leans forward, elbows on the table as his fingers knead the inner corner of his eyes. Another long sigh.   
  
Day twelve, regret. His head aches every time it replays the scene of their latest fight. He recollects all the nasty words he has blurted out; sharp, pierces the heart. Never in his wildest dream has he considered using those series of nouns and adjectives to go against someone, not to Shouyou, especially not to Shouyou. He remembers the expression on Shouyou’s face; hurt, broken into pieces; and the way those brown eyes of his glisten with tears. They always glisten, never with tears. 

He remembers how small Shouyou was compared to him, even when that guy was standing straight. His chin was down, he looked back to Atsumu through his lashes, lips quivered and voice trailed off. He remembers the sobs between sentences and the yelling of his own voice, the timid ‘please’ and shaky ‘sorry’. He remembers the grip of Shouyou’s hand, clinging tight at the sleeve of his sweatshirt; a sincere ‘I love you’ before the crash of slamming door. 

He remembers the stamp of his trainers on the steel stairsteps, stomping off to the parking lot. The breeze of March grazed his skin, creeping in through the thin material of his clothes, sending chills down the spine. He wasn’t cold, the inside of his car was. He remembers turning on the headlights and the sun was setting and the street lights flickered. The radio was on, but the car horns were louder, busy streets of Tokyo, speeding up to forty.

He remembers the alcohol and the sound of glass clinking; the smell of fried food and the warmth of non-stop heaters. His phone rang, incoming call. The feeling of not wanting to see Shouyou, red button, decline. He turned the device off and chugged his drink, half a glass in two gulps. Hours passed by, the day changed, so did his feelings. He wanted to go home, he wanted to see his partner, he wanted to hug him; to say sorry, to be in his arms, to be told that everything would be all right. 

He remembers the road home under the dark sky. The humming sound of the engine, the radio was off. Empty street of Tokyo, after midnight, exactly twelve days ago, forty-two past one in the witching hour. His car wasn’t parked straight, the tail almost scraped the next car, couldn’t have cared less. 

His footfall, creeping, his trainers hardly made noise, heading up to the third floor, to the second-to-the-last door, 304. The door handle was cold, he pushed the door, locked. His heart was thumping, he fumbled with the key, inserted it and pushed the door again. Eight missed calls on his phone, all under the contact named Hinata Shouyou. He thought he would see him, his partner, upset and alone at the dining table of four. He never did. 

He remembers waiting, throughout the night and the day, and the night that came after. He remembers pressing on a series of numbers in his phone, the familiar keytones, and the click sound of locked phone.

Those are all the events his mind has memorized, all through and through. It can picture the fight so well, so vivid, as if it happened yesterday, as if it’s happening in front of his eyes right now. His stomach churns. He folds his arms on the table and buries his face. The bitter taste of the booze lingers on his tongue. He hates it.

Day twelve, wasted. Always wasted. He doesn’t want to be there, but he doesn’t want to come back either. He doesn’t want to drive back to that parking lot, climb that steel stairstep, and step into that room. No, not when he’s not wasted enough not to replay the same scenes in his mind, and not wasted enough not to wish for Shouyou’s presence, being there when he opens the door.

A soft tap on his back, he barely turns around. He knows it’s not Shouyou and it’s not. It’s a woman god-knows-what her name is, probably someone he kissed on the dance floor yesterday night, or maybe the one he brought to a shitty hotel the night before. Atsumu hardly recalls her as he has hooked up with different mistresses, nearly every night, ever since Shouyou’s gone.

The woman climbs to the stool alongside him. The obnoxious smell of her perfume tickles his nose and it sickens him. He fakes a cough in order to stop himself from throwing up. He hears her talking, voice breathy and seductive as her fingers travel down his forearm. He doesn’t listen, not a word from her is processed in his head.    
  
He nods to whatever the fuck she is saying, his head sways and eyes half-lidded as the amount of liquor he has been consuming starts to kick in. He looks at the unknown woman through his lashes. Her face blur, which is good. He reaches out to touch her brown hair; dry and stiff, most likely from hours of heat and tons of hairspray, and that is good. Her breath smells like cigarettes and vodka, which is gross, and it’s all good.   
  
The woman tugs his shirt and drags him down from the stool, which he obliges. He trails her steps that’s bounded toward the dance floor, under the flaring neon lights; red and blue and green, too bright for his eyes, he squints. It feels hot among the rowdy crowd, sweats surface on his temple, shirt clings onto his skin. The ground under his feet trembles from the powerful beat. Chaotic, loud, he can’t get used to it, but he will. He’s trying to.

The woman wraps her arms around his shoulders, not bothering about personal space, her body close, touching. He rests his hands on her waist, moving along with the wave of people. She begins to kiss his neck and jawlines, messy and wet, her teeth graze his skin and he winces. Rough, total opposite of Shouyou. Unfamiliar, foreign, total opposite of Shouyou, and that is good. That’s what he needs. He catches her lips and kisses her back.   
  
Painful, everything is. His head feels heavy but his body feels light. He closes his eyes, letting himself be led. Anywhere’s fine, typically to the back of the building, making out; and possibly to another shabby hotel next, making love— fake love— there’s no love at all. Lust, just lust, with a hint of desperation.   
  
“I’ve been seeing you a lot lately,” she mutters between their kiss and Atsumu for once listens. They’re at the empty corridor outside the main chamber. “I heard you just went through a breakup,” she adds, breathy voice, stink of tobacco.   
  
The word snatches his attention. His eyes fully open, looking straight to hers. “Breakup?” he croaks.   
  
The woman coos, smiling in sympathy as she pushes her body onto him. “Lucky you,” she says, lips on his neck. “I’m going to give you the best night ever that you’ll instantly forget about them.”   
  
Atsumu suddenly goes stiff. His mind echoes the previous word.  _ Breakup. Breakup. Breakup. _ Did Shouyou break up with him? They never mention anything about breaking up. Shouyou just . . . gone. Atsumu went back to their apartment that night twelve days ago, and Shouyou’s not there. His stuff is still there, mostly. His favorite banana-scented shampoo is still on their bathroom sink, but his toothbrush’s gone. His clothes are still in the drawer, but his backpack’s gone. His volleyball shoes are still on the rack at the doorway, but he’s gone. His stomach churns again.

“Stop it,” Atsumu groans, but she doesn’t stop. He grabs her shoulders and pushes her away, peeling her body from his own. “Stop it,” he repeats, firmer. “I’m— I’m not into it anymore.”   
  
“Oh, don’t be shy.” The woman draws her body closer again, but Atsumu instantly steps back, out of her touch, he shoves her hands away. She scowls at the action. “What’s wrong with you?” she snaps.   
  
“I’m not in the mood anymore,” he answers, voice deep to indicate that his statement is not negotiable. He folds his arms before his chest, averting his gaze somewhere to the end of the corridor.   
  
The woman snorts, leaning on one leg, one hand on the hip. “Oh, can’t get over your ex, huh? What a loser.” she bitches, lifting an eyebrow.   
  
Atsumu shoots a glower at her, finally catching sight of her facial feature. Stacks of fake lashes, glossy lips, not much different from the other woman he’s hooked up with, like a template. “None of your business,” he growls before taking his leave, walking past her, their shoulders brush.   
  
“ _ Ugh, _ I bet your ex is whoring around with some other dudes right now,” she says, to his back. 

Atsumu turns around at a stroke, pivoting on his heel. He faces her once again. “What was that?” he asks, but it isn’t a question, more like a threat, maybe a warning.

“Your ex. Do you think they’ll come back to you? How long has it been since your breakup, huh? Since the first time I saw you here, like two weeks?” she bashes, chin high, swaying her head while talking. “Hate to tell you, but only sluts move on  _ that  _ fast––“

She hasn’t even finished talking and Atsumu’s hand is halfway to slap her cheek, but someone yanks him back by his collar and casts him to the ground. He hears the woman’s shriek and a voice that commands her to go away. An overfamiliar voice, almost the same as his own.

He supports himself with one elbow while his other hand rubs the back of his head, hissing from pain. He doesn’t have to look up as he finds his brother has crouched down next to his feet. He’s wearing their dad’s favorite cap and a worn-out hoodie of their old university with an oversized jeans jacket over it.

“What in the  _ fuck  _ are you doing?” Osamu asks, his voice low except for the curse word.

“Lying on the ground,” Atsumu deadpans. “You  _ deadass _ just threw me like garbage.”

Osamu rolls his eyes. “For real, man, what  _ in the fuck _ ? What are you–” He pauses, ruffles his own hair, and continues, “What have you been doing? Why are you here, and not just tonight,  _ like  _ every night, what are up to– I don’t know, just–” he pauses again, takes a deep breath. “Just, what the  _ fuck _ ?”

“Well–” Atsumu finally manages to sit up straight. “What are  _ you  _ doing here?”

Osamu presses his lips together before answering, “I’ve got a friend. A regular here. He said he’s been seeing you here  _ every night _ , trashed with booze, hooking up with sluts.” He observes his twin’s appearance from head to toe and shakes his head. “He told me that you seemed not in the right mind and–“ He gulps, eyes back on the other’s. “I’ve come to pick you up.”

“ _ Pick me up _ ?” he echoes, smirking as he picks himself from the ground. “What am I, a high schooler? Not your style to worry about me, ‘Samu.”

“’Tsumu, _please_ , I’m serious,” Osamu groans, watching his brother stumble, one hand on the wall, posture slanting. “I came all the way from Itabashi and you’re not to spend anymore second here in this nightclub. Where’s Shouyou?”

_ Where’s Shouyou? _ The way Osamu asked it, so confident, like it’s the most  _ right _ question to ask at that moment, like everything will be all right if Shouyou is present, in which–  _ probably _ – will.  _ Where’s Shouyou?  _ Atsumu himself wants to ask the same question, but to whom?

“That’s what I want to know,” Atsumu huffs, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his trousers, staring at his mud-stained trainers. The same yellowing-white trainers as twelve days ago, the one he used to tramp on the steel stairs.

He thinks his brother will ask more, but Osamu knows better. Atsumu catches a glimpse of him nodding slowly at his previous statement. Either understand or seemingly understand, both are good, not necessary to explain any further, not necessary to speak about it any further, but Atsumu can’t stop himself.

Now that his brother here, Atsumu’s chest burns. Emotion weighs his head and words lump in the back of his throat, ready to come out as a series of complaints, in anger, mostly grief, and a hint of desperation. He inhales through gritted teeth, wiping his face with both hands and throwing his head back, slamming his body onto the wall.

“I don’t know what to do,” Atsumu mutters. “I’m such an asshole. I— I don’t deserve him, I— I’m not sure if he will ever forgive me.”

Osamu takes a moment to respond. “You know he isn’t like that.”

“He’s been gone for twelve days!” Atsumu snaps, close to yelling, the corridor reverberates his voice. 

Hush, not completely, they can hear the muffled beat from the main chamber. The fluorescent light above them flickers. Atsumu can sense Osamu’s gaze fixed on him, silent stare, but not lost for words. Osamu just refrains himself from lodging any opinion, he knows Atsumu will brush everything aside.

After a solid five minutes of nothing, Osamu arises from the ground. He holds his hand out to him. “Give me your key, I’ll drive you back,” he says. “You’re done for tonight.”

*

Osamu pulls up at the sidewalk in front of Atsumu’s apartment complex, dropping his brother off before speeding away back to Itabashi since the last train has long gone. Atsumu watches the taillights disappear when the car takes a turn at the end of the street. The breeze of March grazes his skin, he feels cold.

Slowly, he makes his way to the entrance of the building, deliberately dragging on his feet, listening to the rasping sound of his rubber soles against the asphalt. The trees above him rustle. A car passes by, engine humming, loud and then gone by the distance.

He grabs the railing of the steel stairs, forcing himself to climb upstairs with his last remaining stamina, even if he needs to stop every four to five steps as he feels his head whirling from the low blood pressure. Huffing and puffing, the scent of his own breath disgusts him.

Third floor, second room to the last, 304. He inserts the key and pushes the door open, expecting Shouyou to greet him because he isn’t wasted enough. The light of the entryway flashes on by default, detecting Atsumu’s presence under it.

The door behind him slams close, the sound of it jolts him and he looks back, to the closed door, and his mind thinks back again. He almost can hear it, the sound of him slamming shut this door, this exact door, twelve days ago. His stomach churns, not at the slamming door, but at what happened before it and what came after.

_ A sincere ‘I love you’ before the crash of slamming door. _

Want to know what happened in-between? Laugh, his own sarcastic laugh and a ‘fuck off’. A sincere ‘I love you’ and he fucked it off and laughed it out. Want to know what happened after the slamming door? He lost him, his partner, he lost Hinata Shouyou.

Atsumu kicks off his shoes and ambles towards the dining table. His eyes immediately mark Shouyou’s favorite mug, mustard yellow made of ceramic, Gudetama’s face on its side. Next to it is his own mug, boring white with stains of coffee from twelve days ago– no, thirteen.

Day thirteen, fuck pride.   
  
A warm bead of tear rolls down his cheek and over his chin, it lingers for a couple of seconds before falling to the floor. He blinks, head hanging low, eyelashes catching more teardrops. His breath hitches as his shoulders begin to tremble. A sob escapes his lips, loud in the solid silence.   
  
He clenches his fist until his knuckles become white, clutching tight at the material of the shirt over his chest. His entire body feels numb, except for the pain in his heart as it squeezes in shame. A lump of temper at the back of his throat, he lets it out with a hiss of a curse rather than a roar of anger, even when he’s barely able to contain the impulse to.   
  
He leans back slightly, perching himself on the edge of the table. His other hand latches on to the corner, just enough to prevent him from collapsing to his knees. He throws his head back, blowing out air through his mouth. He can hear a crack in his throat and he coughs it out.   
  
Another long breath, in and out, and another one, same thing. His heart is still thumping but he manages to stabilize his breathing. With the sleeve of his shirt, he wipes his tears and runs his fingers through his hair, combing the fringe back and scratching the back of his neck.    
  
He sails his gaze around the room; to the empty soda cans on the coffee table, to the dirty clothes slinging on the backrest of the sofa, to the dishes piling on the sink, to the forgotten trash bag by the kitchenette. It’s barely two weeks and this place has become a dumpster. Everything is a mess, not just this place,  _ everything _ , and it’s a mess that he himself has made.

He pulls out his phone from the back pocket, scans his fingerprint, and clicks on the phone icon. The brightness dazzles his eyes as he stares at the screen.  _ What will he say? _ Every night, he has been going down to hell, swallowing liters of liquor and having sex with women whose name he doesn’t bother to memorize. He thought he would be able to be over Shouyou, but every time he closes his eyes, he’s with him.

Does Shouyou want him still? Is there anything he could say that would ever be enough to make up for all the hurtful words he’s said to him? Why did he hurt someone he loves the most? Why did he think Shouyou would never go? If Shouyou doesn’t forgive him, doesn’t want to give him a second chance, then what will he do?

Day thirteen, the peak of anguish.

He can’t take it anymore. Thinking about Shouyou is torture, not being with Shouyou is damnation, trying to forget Shouyou is out of the question. His thumb slides across the screen, fumbling to press on Shouyou’s cellphone number. His heart is thumping so fast, his body quivers, it reminds him of the blasting beat from the main chamber.

This time, before second thought can barge into his mind, he presses the round, green button. Silence for a moment and he hears the ringback tones. The call connects, he hasn’t been blocked. Atsumu’s heart speeds up, but then he hears a familiar ringtone. A  _ stupid  _ dog-barking ringtone he despises so much. Not from his phone. 

Atsumu freezes. He hears the door clacks open. That stupid ringtone gets louder, and louder, and the world stops turning, and there he is.

Hinata Shouyou.

Shouyou stops in his track, staggering, letting out a little yelp of surprise. His voice.  _ God,  _ Atsumu has missed his voice so much. He feels his heart is hammering. Shouyou is here. Shouyou is here.  _ Holy fucking hell, Shouyou is here.  _ In front of his eyes _.  _ Shit,  _ shit, shit,  _ he needs to apologize. Apologize,  _ now _ , before Shouyou disappears again. Before Shouyou walks out of that door again.

“Atsu–”

“Where  _ the fuck _ have you been?!” Atsumu shouts, crying out to the top of his throat, stomping his feet towards Shouyou.

Shouyou flinches, drooping his head instantly, eyes shut in shock. He doesn’t notice how shocked Atsumu himself is, not at Shouyou’s sudden appearance, but at his own unintentional outburst. _ Where the fuck have you bee _ n _?  _ What a brilliant, nobel-winning question to ask first thing first to a partner that’s been missing for thirteen days. Great job, Atsumu. Now, you can witness him walking out of the door again. Atsumu mentally slaps himself and opens his mouth to correct what he has said. No words come out. 

“Sendai.” To his surprise, Shoyou answers, softly, close to inaudible. “I went back to Sendai, to my parent’s house. Natsu’s back home from dorms. I thought I needed to pay a visit and I thought–” he licks his lips, casting his gaze somewhere to the corner of the room, away from Atsumu. “I thought I might as well give you s-some…. spaces. I figured you needed to be alone so I took the last Shinkansen trip to Sendai that night.”

Hearing that, Atsumu feels all the strength in his body evaporates. He slumps to his knee, shoulders slouching, brows no longer knitted together. It feels as if a heavy rock has been lifted from his upper back.

“Oh God,” Atsumu mumbles, shaking his head. “ _ God _ , Shouyou-kun, I swore I was hundred-percent positive that you’ve left me,  _ damn _ . I–” he halts, struggling to form a word, still shaking his head. “Shou,  _ oh my god _ , how could you do this to me.”

“ _ How could you do this to me? _ ” Shouyou repeats, he sounds angry,  _ sneering _ . “How could you do this to me? The audacity of asking that, Atsumu-san.” Shouyou shifts his weight from foot to foot, eyes wandering around the room, a sarcastic smile on his face. When his eyes meet Atsumu’s again, he screams, “How could  _ you  _ do this to me?!”

This time, Atsumu flinches. Shouyou never screams, not in outrage. He never raises his voice at someone, at last never to Atsumu. Shouyou continues, “I called you shit-ton times  _ that night  _ and all of it went lost! And to this day, you’ve never returned any of it! You don’t contact me, not even a single text and  _ you  _ think you have the right to be the one who asks ‘ _ how could you do this to me’ _ ?!”

Shouyou pants, he said all that probably in two or three sucks of breath. His shoulders shudder, lips wobbling as he carries on. “All throughout the ride–” His voice breaks, holding back sobs. “All throughout the ride back here I’ve prepared myself to be dumped. I thought you… I thought you didn’t want me anymore. I thought you would kick me out as soon as I appear at the doorstep, and that I have to go back to Sendai because– because I have nowhere else to go!”

And he loses it. He’s crying. Shouyou is crying and it’s not a silent cry. He’s bawling like a child to their mother. He’s still standing straight, covering his eyes with his palms. The sight of him whimpering and the sound of his breath hitching, shreds Atsumu’s heart apart. Shouyou has never cried this messy before.

Atsumu rises from the floor and reaches out to Shouyou slowly, tentatively, but when his fingers sense the soft locks of Shouyou hair, his urge wins over him. He instantly wraps his arms around Shouyou, burying his partner’s face on his chest. He feels Shoyou’s body shaking and he instantly tightens the embrace, nuzzling against those soft curls he has missed so much, breathing on the scent he has been yearning for.

Shouyou’s hands hang onto Atsumu’s shirt, gripping tight, not letting go anytime soon. Atsumu’s heart swells. He rubs Shouyou's back with one hand while the other holds the back of Shouyou’s head.

“I’m sorry,” Atsumu speaks in a hushed tone, planting soft kisses on Shouyou’s hair. “I’m sorry, please don’t cry,  _ Shou _ , please stop crying.”

Despite the request, the way Atsumu said it drives Shouyou to bawl even louder. He buries his face deeper onto Atsumu’s chest. “I-I thought you… I really thought you didn’t want me anymore,” he hiccups, his voice muffled. “I thought we’re done. I thought we’re over just because of me and my stupid-ass mistake.”

“What, no, no–” Atsumu pulls himself away slightly to look down at Shouyou’s face. He places one hand on his cheek, thumbing the flushed skin gently. “It was me, I was… I was being childish at that time. I shouldn’t have said those things to you, it was… . it’s all big jerk moves and I– I really regret it. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Shouyou darts his gaze to the side. He pushes his lower lip out, breath short and rapid, brown eyes watery, ready to burst again. Atsumu cups Shouyou’s face in his hand. “Hey, look at me, look at me,  _ baby _ , look at me,” he says softly, drawing their faces closer to each other. Shouyou tries to turn his head completely to the side but Atsumu’s strength forces him to look straight. Two pairs of brown eyes meet.

“Thirteen days without you has been a complete torment for me,” Atsumu tells him. “I went back after our fight and you’re not here, and after all those…  _ shits _ that I’ve said and done to you, I didn’t have the courage to call you, Shou. I felt so… undeserving.”

Shouyou doesn’t respond, but he has stopped weeping. Atsumu uses his thumb to brush away the excess tears on the corner of his eyes. He studies every inch of his partner’s facial features. Even with bloodshot eyes and a snotty nose, for Atsumu there isn’t anyone else on this planet he would say prettier than Shouyou, because for him, Shouyou is perfect.

“But I love you too much to let you go,” Atsumu says softly. Shouyou tears up again and throws himself to his arms. Atsumu kisses the top of his head and snuggles closer, seeking more warmth from Shouyou’s body. “Please stay with me, Shouyou,” he whispers to his partner’s ear. “If that’s too much to ask, then please let  _ me  _ stay with you.”

Shouyou giggles at his words and–  _ goodness–  _ even a mere sound of his giggles are much better than those overpriced liquor downtown. At that moment, Atsumu swears he would rather slit his own throat than hurt Shouyou with his words again, and that he would rather hurl himself down that steel stairs than slam that door in front of Shouyou again.

“Okay,” Shouyou says, smiling gently. “I’ll let you stay with me under one condition.”

Atsumu lifts an eyebrow, “that I will stay with you forever?”

“Uh, I was about to say that but  _ forever _ is too vague… like, what does  _ forever _ means anyway. So, I thought of a better condition.” Shouyou pauses to stare back at Atsumu. He’s on his tiptoes, his arms around Atsumu’s shoulders, almost hanging from the height difference. He continues, “that you will stay with me  _ always _ .”

After all those suffering? You will have to witness the heavens fall first before Atsumu leaves Shouyou. Atsumu snakes his arms around Shouyou’s middle and closes the gap between their lips. Deep in their heart, both of them promise to never let go again.

*  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I think I started working on this fic last week, but I had got tons of assignments to finish so the progress was really slow. But now that my law school is on lockdown, I might as well finish this fics lol. This is inspired by (based on?) one of my favorite songs called "2 soon" by keshi, I actually used the lyrics as my guidance but, well, in the end the plot altered from the lyrics anyway. 
> 
> At the beginning of this piece, I kind of experimented with descriptive words and little details to create the atmosphere and use repetition to make aesthetic. I'm actually quite proud of it (even if I couldn't keep it up til the end). Anyway, thank you for reading this far! Penny for your thoughts? :)


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